


Somebody's Fool

by enviropony



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony
Summary: Woodes Rogers did not think himself easily persuaded. Needless to say, he was a little wary to find himself agreeing to take his charge along to the beach. He'd meant to meet Captain Flint on his own.





	Somebody's Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [chicago_ruth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth) for beta-reading! (LOL, the em dashes, I could not bring myself to banish them...)

Woodes Rogers did not think himself easily persuaded. He was logical, methodical, and did not take a man at his word until he'd assured himself through detailed investigation of that man's character. Needless to say, he was a little wary to find himself agreeing to take his charge along to the beach. He'd meant to meet Captain Flint on his own. If reason wasn't going to convince Nassau's most influential pirate to accept a pardon, surely guilty and shame wouldn't, either. 

Yet here was a paroled prisoner, a man whose crimes Rogers had not managed to discover, mounting a horse as if for the first time in years, taking in his surroundings with quiet curiosity. The prisoner made no comment - he wasn't one for casual conversation, though he'd been quite the orator back in London. In Rogers' company, he'd rarely spoken unless asked for his opinion on the finer points of Rogers' plan. Mrs. Hudson reported that he did converse with Eleanor more freely, but it was mostly to ask questions: What was Nassau like? What did the pirates do with their earnings? Why did the interior plantations keep funneling their trade through Nassau if they claimed to be so much against piracy?

Rogers wondered again at the wisdom of having pulled Thomas Hamilton off the prison plantation in Savannah. He had the nagging sensation that he was missing a vital piece of information, but the only source of it left on the matter of the Hamilton scandal was a fifteen-year-old orphan girl, and she'd only learned that Thomas Hamilton still lived because she'd diligently made her way through her father's documents after his death.

"I am at the mercy of a guardian I detest, Lord Rogers," she'd told him, unapologetic. "Whatever power can be gained from the secrets this mansion holds, I mean to wield it."

He almost hadn't met with her - what could a child know of the weighty matters of politics and governance, after all? But one of the governor's men - one of those very few who survived Flint's attack on Charles Town - had mentioned that Abigail Ashe had been delivered to her father by a pirate the governor called by name, and all the rumors Rogers had heard about the scandal coalesced: James Flint was indeed James McGraw, the Navy liaison who had seduced Lord Hamilton's wife away from him. Peter Ashe had discovered them. Returning the governor's kidnapped daughter safely appeared to have been some kind of penance or peace offering. 

Abigail herself had said little on the matter: only that Mr. McGraw and the Lady Hamilton had been very kind to her, and she was glad Colonel Rhett was dead, because she would never forgive him for murdering the Lady Hamilton. She did not know why Lord Hamilton was living in Savannah; it seemed to her that he should have been happier in Charles Town with his dear friend. 

She had said "dear friend" in rather an arch manner, which Rogers had first taken to mean that Ashe and Hamilton had fallen out. Discovering that Hamilton was, in fact, a prisoner had been very confusing, until Hamilton had relayed to him that he was aware of a number of unscrupulous dealings on Ashe's part - dealings that would have lost him the governorship had they ever come to light. Believing his wife gone to her grave, he had seen no reason not to acquiesce to the imprisonment, for he was very weary, and wished not to dwell anymore on difficult things.

Upon finding out that the Lady Hamilton was only recently deceased, Lord Hamilton had turned away to stare out the carriage window, and wept silent tears.

When he learned, the next morning, that Mr. McGraw was alive, and was parading about as Captain Flint, Hamilton had not quite believed the words at first. "That is not the man I remember."

"Perhaps you knew him not nearly so well as you thought," Rogers had suggested kindly, trying to avoid the discussion of adultery, though it stood as the most obvious point on the matter of McGraw's character.

"It does make sense, I suppose," Hamilton had said at last, despite the confusion still written across his brow. "He must have been so furious over Miranda's death, to destroy Charles Town."

"He burned Charles Town to make a point," Rogers said. "He's been ravaging English port towns from Virginia down through the West Indies ever since. Any governor who executes pirates is targeted. The man has no conscience."

Hamilton had frowned. "Yet you mean to offer him a pardon?"

Rogers had barked out a laugh. "No, not him. There are several men who will not be eligible."

"I think..." Hamilton had paused for some time, and Rogers had watched the emotions play across his face: bitterness, anger, grief, determination. "I think you may find that you cannot sway the island without him - not if he is still as influential as the stories suggest."

Rogers had nodded. "Miss Guthrie has said the same, but there must be limits, you understand?"

"I suppose there must," Hamilton had agreed.

And yet, here Rogers was, ready to offer a pardon to Captain bloody Flint in the hope that whatever resistance remained in Nassau would disperse like a morning fog.

"I tell you," Hamilton had promised intently, "that shame will coerce a man to things that reason will not. We were close, Lord Rogers. You will understand the nature of his regrets when he lays eyes on me. He will do whatever I ask."

Personally, Rogers thought that Hamilton was being quite naive, but the man did still have a way with words, when he was of a mind to bother with them.

So onward to the beach they rode.

\- - -

James was morbidly curious about what Rogers might have to say. He did not expect anything to come of the meeting, other than a battle line being drawn, but one had to get the measure of one's enemies, so he'd agreed to the brief truce.

He trained his glass on the beach, wanting to get the lay of things. A canopy had been erected, an English pennant flying above it. There were armed redcoats, but no more than had been promised. James had brought just enough men - and muskets - to counter them. A white flag snapped smartly beneath the Union Jack, and he thought Rogers would honor it for the sake of appearances, if nothing else. 

There were some makeshift fortifications beyond the canopy, marking the cannon emplacement. The lookout in the crow's nest had seen only one cannon and shot, no hidden redcoats. James still felt as if he were rowing into a trap, but it couldn't be helped.

He focused on the men sitting beneath the rippling canvas. He'd expected Rogers and an aide, perhaps a servant. They were there, but another man sat at equal station with the dark-haired one that had been described as Rogers. At this distance, James could see little beyond hair color and general impressions. The man he assumed to be Rogers was more elaborately dressed. The blond-haired man sat stiffly and gazed steadily at the water; Rogers, by comparison, seemed positively animated.

James lowered the glass and considered the situation. The blond man looked broadly familiar, but James could think of nobody of his build who might be held hostage against him. It could be Pastor Lambrick, sent to entreat him in the name of god or some such nonsense, though if Rogers knew of the man's history with James and Miranda, he would have thought twice. Maybe it was a treasurer, sent to bribe him into compliance? It did not look like one of the merchants from town, nor one of the other captains; perhaps a plantation owner from the interior, though why the fuck anyone thought James would listen to one of them, he could not fathom. He scowled, and waited as the longboat drew closer.

He raised the glass at intervals to see if anything was changing, and by intervals became convinced that his grief had overwhelmed him. The closer he got to shore, the more the man beneath the canopy resembled Thomas.

His dress was plain, though not cheap; his boots, beneath the table, were a soldier's or workman's, not a noble's; he sported a recently-trimmed beard. He looked... he looked tired, and anxious, and James wondered why his mind would conjure this strange, weathered creature instead of the vivacious man of his memories. He did not see Miranda's ghost on the sand, but it could only be her influence. Why did she taunt him so? He burned for the loss of her, no less for these long weeks past than he had at the very moment it happened. The shock of it still paralyzed him - he stared at her lifeless form, felt her blood on his face, and wailed in silent bewilderment. It was only rage that goaded him awake each morning, fury that fueled him, the hunger for revenge that kept his mind keen. 

James tucked away the spy glass and resolved to focus as the bow dropped sharply beneath him. The waves were breaking, the beach was near, and James pulled Captain Flint around himself like a cloak. When the boat grounded ashore, he drew in a sharp breath, told the men to stay near the water, and strode up the beach like he owned it.

 

\- - -

His first proper look at James took Thomas' breath away. He stalked across the sand like a panther, determined and predatory. His eyes seemed to pin Rogers to his chair; the governor did not rise in greeting until James stood over them, glaring stonily. He did not spare a glance for Thomas until Rogers forced him to.

"Captain Flint, I presume? My names is Woodes Rogers; I am the new governor of Nassau. And you must remember my companion, Lord Thomas Hamilton."

Finally James met his eye, and Thomas could not keep the wonder from his voice. "James."

James swallowed. He gave the barest wince, a most subtle acknowledgement of all that had been between them. "Thomas." His voice was rough, as if he hadn't yet spoken that day.

Rogers eyed them both cautiously, like he perhaps thought one might launch himself at the other in a fit of rage. He did not seem overly perturbed that James had not acknowledged him. "Lord Hamilton has come to help me present a proposal to you, Captain. One that he assures me you are well familiar with."

James continued not to acknowledge him. "I thought... we were told you'd died."

Thomas scowled at the reminder of Peter's treachery. "I was told that the two of _you_ were dead," he replied. "Lord Rogers only recently informed me that Miranda was killed in Charles Town. I'm so sorry, James."

If Rogers thought it odd that a man was expressing sympathy for the one who had stolen his wife, he kept it to himself. James, however... "You're sorry?" James croaked. "I was supposed to keep her safe. I was-"

"Stop," Thomas asked, and stop James did. "We will speak of it at a later point, I hope. For now there is the matter of the pardons to discuss."

"The pardons?" James shook his head. "What the- Fuck the pardons, Thomas! How can you just-"

"Stop, I said!" Thomas had to snap, because James was winding himself up for a mighty blow, but he clenched his fists and fell silent at Thomas' command.

Thomas turned to Rogers. "Mr. McGraw and I will speak privately for a moment." At Rogers' displeased frown, he added, "Would you like all your personal grievances aired before strangers if it were you, Lord Rogers?"

Rogers sighed, and acquiesced with a nod. "As you will."

Thomas gestured toward the water. James eyed them both warily, but preceded him down the beach. 

“Keep walking," Thomas murmured before James thought to stop. "Right to the boat, keep walking.

"What?" James stopped anyway, and turned on him, bewildered. There was still more than a trace of hurt in his gaze.

"Unless you want the pardon?" Thomas asked haltingly, because he honestly hadn't considered the possibility since he'd understood what happened at Charles Town.

"No, I don't want the fucking pardon!" James snapped.

"Then for god's sake, keep walking before he catches on!" Thomas hissed. "I'm not going back to prison."

James stared blankly for a moment, then spun on his heel and aimed for the boat. Thomas followed, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder until he heard Rogers shouting after him.

"Lord Hamilton? Lord Hamilton, that's far enough!" It was a little amusing that he kept up the pretext of respect, even as he chastised Thomas like an errant child.

"Run!" James urged, and they ran. James' men startled to see their captain pelting suddenly toward them, but raised their muskets to cover his retreat. James barreled into the gunwale of the boat, shoving it backwards, and Thomas put a shoulder to the other side. They had her afloat again in moments, pushing her into deeper water even as two men scrambled in to man the oars. 

At James' shout, Thomas joined them, grabbing the musket that was thrust at him from astern. He knelt in the bow and brought the weapon to bear directly on Rogers. Once he saw that James was safely aboard, he called out, "I thank you for the ride, Lord Governor!"

Rogers didn't seem to know what to say. "I'll see you hanged for this!" he retorted eventually.

"Not if I see you dead first!" Thomas called back. "Or get you the fuck off James' island!"

Then they were too far apart to convey anything other than incoherent rage and musket balls, and soon the rowers had taken them even beyond that.

"Well," Thomas said, putting down the gun in his hands - the fifth one he'd been handed, or perhaps the first one, a third time? James' men were efficient re-loaders. "That was exciting." 

James was staring as if he didn't recognize Thomas. "What the fuck was that?"

Thomas smirked. "That was me, escaping my parole. I, er..." and here he stopped, glancing at the other men in the boat, who looked almost as confused as James. "I'm sorry, I suppose I should have asked if you minded. I did put your men in danger. I apologize."

James choked out an incredulous laugh. "Don't apologize." He snagged at Thomas' shirt and hauled him in for a breath-taking bear hug. "Jesus, Thomas, don't you ever apologize!"

They clung to each other far longer than England considered appropriate for men who were not blood relatives, but James didn't seem ready to let go, and Thomas certainly wasn't going to be the first. At last James held him at arms-length, eyes roving eagerly over Thomas. "Where the hell have you been?"

"A prison plantation in Savannah," Thomas replied. "Now I wish I'd tried harder to escape." He wanted to say more, but he was acutely aware of being stared at, though when he looked at James' men, they all seemed to be doing Other Things. At least none of them were whistling. "We'll talk more when we get aboard your ship, hmm?"

James spared a look at their boat mates, who determinedly continued to do Other Things. "Yes, all right." He seated himself on the plank right next to Thomas, a comforting warmth from hip to shoulder, and said no more.

Thomas considered the ship as they drew near. "I don't suppose you're within cannon range of the beach?" he asked eventually.

James blinked at him, startled. "Cannon?" He turned between the beach and the ship. "We are, actually." He perched on the bow and peered toward land through his spy glass. "I don't think we'll accomplish anything. He's moving off already."

Thomas sighed mournfully. "No way to signal your ship to open fire?"

"And risk _his_ cannon hitting this boat?" James asked. “No.”

"He only brought down the one," Thomas said. "You'll end this a lot sooner if you can kill him now."

James turned that befuddled lack of recognition on him again, and Thomas sighed. Eleven years of torturous privation had carved charity and restraint right out of him, but James wasn't to know that. "He's shown all the patience he's going to show. From now on, he'll give no quarter, and he will pursue this to its bitterest end.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it. He gazed out at the beach again. "We missed our window. And it's unlikely that we'd have actually killed him, anyway." He turned to Thomas. "I do know he's nobody's fool."

Thomas smirked, gestured about himself pointedly, and asked, "Isn't he?"

James' mouth twitched up into a smile that grew into a snigger, then a laugh. 

Despite the wear of years and the grief that hung about him, he was still beautiful when he laughed. 

 

\- end -


End file.
